My 1st month In Morocco I was in a car accident. We flew over a cliff and landed in a tree. My two companions were hospitalized. I was lucky.
The 2nd month I was in a train accident. We hit a dump truck that was stalled at a crossing. Three people were killed. Everyone on the train was lucky. The train did not leave the rails.
The 3rd month I wrestled in a professional match at the Teatro de Cervantes in Tangier against The Hope of Tangier. It was fixed, except when my opponent thought I hit him too hard. Then it was real. I won. I was lucky.
The 4th month I received an order to report for induction into to the US Army. The notice said it was the greatest fighting force in the world and I would join 3 million others. My induction was postponed so I could complete my two year Peace Corps commitment. I was lucky.
The 5th month I met fellow teachers Abdu and Jaowad — whom I called Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. They got me into all kinds of trouble but luckily I was never detained by any security agencies.
The 6th month the students at Abdu’s, Jaowad’s, and my school went on strike and we had to hang out in the teacher’s lounge and drink mint tea. It was a nice break.
The 7th month our students called off their strike because they were tired of being beaten by the police, so we had to go back to work. It was good to see the kids again.
The 8th month the flag ship of the 6th Fleet pulled into Casablanca and I gave 170 sailors a guided tour of Casablanca. I was authorized eight Moroccan military trucks with drivers. The sailors were happy.
The 9th month I fell into a forbidden relationship with a Moroccan girl who convinced me to caste our fate to the wind and thumb our noses at the authorities. We were in love.
The 10th month the Moroccan Army attacked the King’s birthday celebration even before he had a chance to blow out the candles.
The 11th month my Moroccan girlfriend and I were stopped at the border and had to sneak into a hotel, concealing our differing religious backgrounds. We were allowed to stay as long as we agreed to quietly leave the hotel before sunrise.
The 12th month the secret police at my neighborhood cafe accused me of being a spy. I told them that “at least we are in the same business.” They said, “Yeah, but we are in our own country.”
The 13th month my girl friend and I crossed the strait and got married in Gibraltar.
The 14th month the Peace Corps transferred me from Casablanca to a small city where my wife had to pretend she was from the Caribbean — and refrain from speaking Arabic.
The 15th month I went to Fes to visit my in-laws and to meet my mother-in-law for the first time.
The 16th month I bought a 1952 BMW police motorcycle — and my wife and I cruised the coast.
The 17th month we went to Tangier and sipped wine on John Brugger’s roof as my wife sipped on Oranjina. We also visited the man with the red fez who ran the Mobil Station.
The 18th month I went to Marrakesh to give the baccalaureate exam to students and to see the snake charmers at the Square of the Dead.
The 19th month we got sunburned on the beach at Mohammedia and had to scrap tar from our toes.
The 20th month we danced half the night at one of Driss Alaoui’s famous parties.
The 21st month I helped the Moroccan National Wrestling Coach teach children from a shanty town how to wrestle.
The 22nd month my wife got pregnant and we took many walks in the park and ate wild cherries.
The 23rd month my wife and I decided to call our baby Safia if a girl, and Michael if a boy.
The 24th month Jaowad took us to the airport so that my wife could get through immigration to leave the country. He served as her “older brother.” We flew to Paris and spent four nights at the Paris Hilton overlooking the Eiffel Tower before flying to New York.
gregswimelar 